


Swimming Against the Current

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 19:05:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11341482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Mulder returns to Skinner after a six-year absence.





	Swimming Against the Current

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Swimming Against the Current by Rosalita

Swimming Against the Current  
by Rosalita  
  
Mulder/Skinner  
NC-17 for m/m sexual interaction.  
Summary: Mulder returns to Skinner after a six-year absence.  
Spoilers: This story is so old, I can't imagine that anyone would be spoiled by it.  
WARNING: DISTURBING CONTENT. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED. DO NOT FLAME ME IF YOU GET UPSET.  
This story was originally written in April 1998. It has been revised frequently since then, but everything after PX/RatB didn't happen.  
Fox Mulder and Walter Skinner belong to Chris Carter and FOX Broadcasting. I'm borrowing them without permission. I promise to return them more or less in the condition I found them. No copyright infringement is intended.  
Feedback appreciated and answered at . Flamers will receive a dedication in my next story. Rosalita's other X-Files stories can be found at http://members.dencity.com/rosalita

* * *

Sunset was his favorite time of day. Work over, he could relax at his favorite restaurant, drink his favorite beer, eat a good meal, and watch the sun set over the Pacific. A creature of habit, this had been his evening ritual since moving to San Diego three years ago.

Orange and purple streaks painted the water. A long shadow fell over his table. Thinking it was the waitress, he turned to ask for another beer when a voice that did not belong to anyone working at the restaurant said, "Hello, Walter."

Familiar voice. Tall form, backlit by the setting sun. Skinner's eyes skimmed their way up to the face of a man he thought he'd never see again, then looked away. "You're blocking my view of the sunset."

"Is that all you're going to say?" The metal legs of the chair scraped against the concrete of the patio as Fox Mulder pulled it out and sat uninvited.

"You've been gone for six years. What did you expect?" Eyes still straight ahead, he watched the waves battering the shoreline and the setting sun coloring the sky with ever more vivid pinks and purples. He looked everywhere except at Mulder.

"I can explain," Mulder began in a quiet voice.

"You always can, Mulder," Skinner said wearily. "But you know what? I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear your lame excuses. You're not going to waltz back into my life after six years and act like nothing happened." A note of near pleading crept into his voice. "Get the fuck out of here, Mulder. Go back to whatever rock you crawled out from under."

Dammit, dammit, dammit! Of all times for Mulder to show up. It had taken nearly all of the six years that Mulder had been gone for Skinner to get over him. He hazarded a glance at the other man. Who was he kidding? He'd never gotten over him. He'd only pretended he had. Mulder's presence only served to remind him that he'd been deluding himself.

Although he'd never believed it would ever really happen, Skinner had imagined their reunion many times in the past. Planned what he'd say, what he'd do, how he'd feel. His imaginary self would say angry, surly things, blow Mulder off, tell him he didn't need him.

Blindsided by Mulder's unexpected arrival, he couldn't do or say or feel any of the things he'd planned. Besides, it was hard to be angry with a man who looked so miserable.

Hazel eyes--bereft of their characteristic fire--stared out at him from a face that was pale and gaunt. Mulder's hair was going the gray of a man on whom life had been too hard. Small, deep lines etched his face. More than they should have for a 42 year old. Mulder had always been thin, but lush and healthy. Now, he was just thin. The air of tragedy that had always surrounded him now seemed to consume him.

*So what,* he thought. *Not my problem.* And tried very hard not to care. Skinner's mother sometimes, after a particularly trying day, had said that she felt worn. That's how Mulder looked. Worn.

"What happened to you?" he finally asked, in spite of himself.

"I don't want to talk about it here." Mulder stared for a long moment at the ocean, as if sizing it up, then looked back at Skinner. "Is there some place we can go? I don't have a room." Seeing Skinner's reluctance, he added, "Don't worry, I won't stay long."

Skinner nodded, wondering how much he was going to regret this. "My place. It's just up the beach. We can walk." He threw enough money on the table to cover his meal and set off without looking back to see if Mulder was following him.

Skinner's house was the style of rancher ubiquitous to this part of California. He rarely used the private beach that came with it, but the view from his house was spectacular. Three years earlier, amidst a developing ulcer and talk of his being the next director, he'd left the FBI to become head of security for a large resort in the West. Not once had he ever regretted it.

Mulder slumped against the French doors at the far end of the living room, forehead pressed against the glass. He stared out at the ocean, saying nothing.

Skinner considered hammering away at him with questions but refrained. It wouldn't do any good. Mulder would talk when he was ready and not before.

"You want something to drink?" he offered to break the uncomfortable silence, taking mental inventory of what might be in his refrigerator. Mulder surprised him by asking for Scotch.

"I don't remember your drinking Scotch," Skinner said. Actually, Mulder had never drunk much at all beyond the occasional beer. A low tolerance for alcohol had been his explanation, but Skinner knew that his father had been a heavy drinker.

"I do a lot of things I didn't use to do."

//Like disappear for six years//, Skinner wanted to say but didn't. Instead he retrieved a bottle of amber liquid and two glasses from the bar.

"Make mine a double," Mulder said dryly as Skinner handed him a filled glass.

Skinner grimaced and poured more liquor into Mulder's glass. Settling down in a chair, he watched in horrified fascination as Mulder drained it almost instantly and held it out for more. He gave him another two fingers. This time, Mulder held the glass and turned again to stare out into the night.

"You've got a nice place," he said to Skinner's reflection in the glass.

"Did you come here to talk? Or to drink my Scotch and stare out the window?"

"I like the ocean at night. There's something soothing about it, don't you think?" Mulder turned to him, his face unreadable. Nevertheless, Skinner felt as if Mulder were asking him a question of great importance that he couldn't answer. Not that it mattered, because Mulder continued speaking, clearly not expecting one. "It reminds me of home. The Vineyard, I mean, before Samantha was taken--when we were still a family."

His voice was flat, reciting a story he'd told himself for so long that it had become real. And now it seemed that even he no longer believed that such a time had existed. "Sometimes in the summer my mother would pack food in a basket and we'd go out on the beach after dark. Dad would build a campfire on the sand, and we'd sit there and eat.

"My father never really liked the ocean, but my mother loved it and, in those days, he indulged her. He had a very healthy respect for the ocean. 'Never underestimate it,' he told me. 'It gives us life, and it gives us death.' I always thought he disliked it because it reminded him of how easily the past comes back. Things have a way of washing up, you know?"

Breaking off his recitation, Mulder downed the nearly forgotten glass of Scotch. He stepped away from the door, placing the glass on a nearby table on his way to stop in front of Skinner. He studied the older man for a long moment. "You look good, Walter. Been working out?" he said finally.

Dismayed and thoroughly unnerved, all Skinner could say was, "You look terrible."

Mulder barked out a sharp laugh. "I suppose I do."

"Mulder." Skinner shook his head in frustration. "What do you want from me?"

"I don't know," Mulder admitted. "I thought I wanted you to save me. But now I think it's too late for that."

"Save you from what?"

"Myself, maybe." He shrugged, as if it was no longer important.

He'd never been able to save Mulder from himself; no one could. Trying only led to failure which led to guilt. Early in their relationship, he'd realized that and had settled on just being around to pick up the pieces after each disaster. He and Scully were Mulder's own personal search and rescue team.

He'd been ready to rescue Mulder six years ago. The winter had been unusually warm that year and by Easter, it was already beach weather. Spending the three-day weekend on the Outer Banks had been Mulder's idea. The two men were to meet at Skinner's apartment Friday night to make the trip down. Only Mulder never showed up. Worried, Skinner called Mulder's apartment, and then his cell phone. Finally, he called Scully. She hadn't heard from Mulder, either.

Frantic, he drove to Mulder's apartment, imagining that he would see his lover's car wrapped around a telephone pole along the way. Scully beat him there. They were sure Mulder had been taken although there was no sign of a struggle. She was the one who noticed that the picture of Samantha was gone. Further investigation showed his suitcase and some of his clothing was also missing.

Mulder hadn't been abducted. He'd left of his own free will.

"Can you imagine how I felt when I realized you'd left? I loved you. I thought you loved me. But you left me." Skinner said, the pain he hadn't felt in years stinging him anew. Betrayal, anger, fear, guilt, and an overwhelming sadness--it surprised him that those feelings were still with him after six years, lying dormant, awaiting their opportunity to smother him once again.

Fear was the worst of all. From the very start, he'd been afraid that he had driven Mulder away. Perhaps he'd done or said something wrong. Maybe he had moved too fast. He'd known that relationships weren't easy for Mulder. Had it been a coincidence that Mulder had left soon after Skinner had told him he loved him? Did his confession scare Mulder so badly that all he could think to do was run? He didn't like to think so. He wanted to think that Mulder was steadier than that. In spite of what he'd said at the restaurant, he had to have an explanation.

Skinner breathed evenly to slow the emotions that had been tamped down but never really disposed of. Mulder had abandoned his vantage point and was now seated on the couch. He sat back against the cushion, trying to put as much distance between himself and Skinner's words as he could.

Mulder rubbed his face with both hands and sank back even further into the cushions. "Right before Scully went into remission, I was offered a deal by the Smoking Man; he wanted me to come work for him."

Skinner remembered the strange anxiety that had underlined Mulder's happiness at Scully's recovery. Mulder had been evasive whenever Skinner had questioned him about it. After a while, he'd let it drop. Now he knew the reason. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want you to know how close I'd come to taking it."

Skinner was stunned that Mulder would even briefly entertain the thought of working for his enemy. "Why on earth would you do that?"

"He told me he could make all my problems disappear. And I had a lot of them at the time. He was the one who told me about the chip. *He* came up with the cure for Scully. Then, he brought me Samantha." Mulder's voice trailed off and his eyes shimmered wetly. After a moment, he continued in a stronger voice, "Or who I thought was Samantha. Then he took her away."

"When was this?" he asked sharply, annoyed at yet another thing Mulder hadn't told him. He'd really thought that they had ironed out the trust issues in their relationship by the time of Scully's illness. Finding out that Mulder still hadn't trusted him hurt worse than he thought possible.

"Right after I rose from the dead," Mulder said with a counterfeit smile. "I met her in a diner. She told me he was her father." He paused, sucked in a breath. "She had a family of her own. She didn't want anything to do with me."

God dammit! Skinner had always known he'd regret not killing that prick when he'd had the chance. It was just like that vicious, nicotine-ridden fuck to trot out Samantha for show and tell just so he could get Mulder off balance.

"So you made a deal with him?" he prompted when the other man seemed reluctant to speak.

Mulder shook his head, "No, I turned him down. But he didn't give up. The Consortium was running scared after that business with the flaming abductees, and they needed him. He needed me. I suspect that he used me as a bargaining chip to get back in their good graces."

"And you took the deal," Skinner said quietly. Oh God. Mulder.

"Yes," Mulder answered, equally quiet. "This time, I took it."

"Why?" Skinner asked in a pained voice.

"He had pictures. Of us. He threatened to ruin you, and I couldn't allow that to happen."

"Pictures? How did he get them?"

"Surveillance, Walter." Mulder rolled his eyes as if this was perfectly obvious. He always reminded Skinner of a smart-ass teenager when he did that, and it never failed to piss him off. Still, it was the first indication to Skinner that Mulder was at least partly still the same man he was six years ago.

"Why didn't you just come to me? We could have handled it. I thought you knew that you could tell me anything; I thought we were close. Was I kidding myself?"

Wounded look as Skinner's words hit their target. "Of course not, but I couldn't let him destroy your career. I couldn't have that on my head along with everything else that was done to you because of me."

"None of that was your fault," Skinner said, trying to reign in his impatience. How many times had he told Mulder this? Ten times? A hundred? It never sank in. Skinner had been framed for murder, shot, and reduced to the Smoker's errand boy in the years that he'd supervised the X-Files. And Mulder with his infinite capacity for guilt took the blame for all of it. "You are not responsible for the decisions I made or the consequences of those decisions."

"You told me that you made that deal with him so I wouldn't have to." Self-recrimination was evident in Mulder's voice.

"Yes, I did," Skinner said gently. "I was trying to protect you. I couldn't allow you to sell your soul to that bastard. But it was still *my* decision."

And it had been a terrible mistake. In seeking to protect Mulder, he'd nearly lost him. And Mulder had made the same mistake he had. It occurred to him that the breaking of his own deal with the Smoker had forced him to turn his attention to Mulder. The thought made him sick.

"You still should have told me, Mulder. Did you think that my career was more important to me than you were? I'd have resigned in a minute."

"I know you would have and that's why I didn't say anything. And if that were all he'd threatened me with, I might have. But he used Scully too. He told me that it would be very easy for her cancer to start growing again and that there would be no miracle cure the second time around without him. So you see, I really had no choice."

No, he'd clearly had no choice. Not with threats made to the two people he loved most, his lover and his best friend.

"So you went to work for them. I'm surprised they trusted you."

"Who said they did? They watched me. They still do. They keep me in line with threats and rewards."

"What rewards?"

"Samantha. They told me where to find her. After a while, she grew to trust me, and I got to meet her husband, her children. Almost like a real family. As long as I was a good boy, the visits would continue. It occurred to me even before that whenever I started to lose faith, Samantha, in one form or another, would show up. Or I'd get some little tidbit about her. She was the carrot on the stick they dangled in front of me when they wanted to keep me in line. That and Scully. Especially after you left the FBI, and they couldn't use you anymore."

Skinner nearly laughed at the irony. He'd left the FBI to help himself and had, in a way, helped Mulder as well. "Had I known, I'd have quit sooner."

"It wouldn't have changed anything," Mulder said with a trace of regret.

"Something's changed. I left the FBI three years ago. I assume you knew that." Mulder nodded. "What made you come here now?"

"Samantha is dead," Mulder in a voice so lacking in emotion that it sent a shiver down Skinner's spine. "She's been dead for a long, long time, and the woman I thought was her was just another clone."

That lying son of a bitch! He'd known, and he'd been using Samantha to lead Mulder around by the nose for years. Killing was too good for him. He wanted to go to Mulder, hold him, but he wasn't sure if that's what Mulder would want so he murmured "Jesus, Mulder. I'm sorry. How did you find out?"

"Snooping," he said off-handedly. "Found some old files. I'd actually suspected for a while, but I couldn't quite bring myself to look for the evidence. It was kind of nice to pretend that she was my sister--to have a family again. You and Scully had been taken away from me. I . . . I needed somebody. It's funny how far we'll go to delude ourselves, isn't it?"

The question required no answer and Skinner stayed silent, watching Mulder. The other man was strangely calm. Calm was rarely a word associated with Fox Mulder so this stillness was something new. So many times in the past, he wished that Mulder would just be still. Now that he was, it was nowhere near as appealing as Skinner had thought it would be. In fact, it was downright unnerving.

"So, anyway," Mulder was saying, "I escaped. It took me two months to finagle my way out here, but I finally managed to get them to send me to California on an assignment. I'm supposed to be in San Francisco." He added with finality, "I'm not going back."

"Will they look for you?"

"Yeah, once they realize I'm gone. They'll probably come here. Don't worry, I'll be gone by then."

*Again*, Skinner thought with another surge of anger. "You son of a bitch," he said, voice pitched dangerously low. "Do you think you can just walk in and out of my life whenever the hell you please? Why are you doing this?"

"I thought you deserved to know why I left the way I did. And I needed to see you before I . . . " Mulder broke off and looked again toward the dark sea. For a moment, its muffled crashing was the only sound. Mulder's sadness and his tiredness were palpable. They permeated the room and drained Skinner's anger away.

" . . . have to go?" Skinner finished for him.

A shrug and, "Yeah, before I have to go."

Mulder was going to leave again. That simple. Show up after six years, hang around for a few hours, and then disappear.

"So you're going on the run?" Skinner asked with a sarcastic edge. "What if they decide to come after me? Or make good on their threat to Scully?" Mulder looked up at him. He'd thought about that possibility, Skinner could tell. Good, that meant there was still a chance. Skinner knelt on the floor beside the couch and put a hand on one knee. He could feel its boniness through Mulder's jeans. He was so thin. Time enough to fatten him up later. First, he had to persuade him to stay. "You don't have to go. I can help you. I may be out of the FBI, but I still have connections."

"I can't involve you in this, Walter. Besides, I'm working on a plan that will take care of it, and I have to do it on my own."

"What plan?"

"I'm still working on it," he said but refused to divulge any additional information.

Well, one thing hadn't changed: Mulder still got a charge out of being cryptic. Skinner wasn't buying it. "This is such bullshit. If you hadn't wanted to involve me, you wouldn't have come here in the first place."

"I know you want to help me, Walter. You can't. It's that simple. I won't let you throw your new life away for me. I'm really not worth it."

"What if I think you are?"

Mulder picked up the empty glass from the table and rolled it between his palms. He watched it move back and forth, studying it as though it held some great revelation. When he finally spoke, it was in a voice that held no absolution for himself. "Do I have to prove to you that I'm not worthy? People have *died* because of me. Innocent people. I may as well have pulled the trigger myself. They died because of the things I did. I'm well known in UFO circles, those people trusted me. I led them to their deaths. *Knowingly.* Now do you want to still want to help me?"

None of that mattered one damn bit to Skinner. "Yes, I do."

Mulder smiled sadly. "You're crazier than I am." Softly.

"You're just figuring that out?" Skinner said, rising to join Mulder on the couch and pulling him into an embrace.

"Don't do this to me, Walter," Mulder whispered, making a half-hearted attempt to pull away.

Skinner tightened his arms around the thin body and his lips brushed against Mulder's, quieting the other man. "Don't do what?" he uttered against soft, full lips. "This is why you came here, isn't it? This is what you wanted. Isn't it?" he demanded gently.

"Yes." A breathless answer, and Mulder pressed his forehead to Skinner's. "In all those years, not a day went by that I didn't think about you. About this . . . I'm so sorry."

Skinner hushed him again and pressed his lips to the drawn brow, the closed eyelids before returning to that lush mouth and taking it. His tongue slid inside and tasted Mulder for the first time in six years.

The anger and pain of long, lonely years washed away, and it was just as it had been, only better. His lover in his arms again, their mouths locked in a heady pas de deux. That long, lean body against his own, chests rising and falling with each breath, cocks hard and searching for one another.

"Bed," Skinner gasped, breaking the kiss reluctantly. Their clothing, like breadcrumbs strewn to mark a path, littered the floor from the living room to the bedroom.

Skinner pushed Mulder back onto the bed and stood above him taking in his errant lover's sprawl. Elegant as always but betraying a soul-deep weariness and something else that had never been part of Mulder's countenance--something he couldn't name. Whatever it was, it frightened him. And somehow made Skinner want him all the more. He wanted to erase all the horrible things that Mulder thought he'd done. Drown him in pleasure, make him incapable of thought, for just a little while. Mulder was his again, even if only for one night.

"Tell me what you want," Skinner whispered as he straddled Mulder's too-slender body.

No answer, only a moan as Skinner lightly ran his tongue over the sharp relief of collarbone on his way to that sensitive spot behind Mulder's ear.

"Still like that, huh?" Skinner raised his head. "What else did you use to like?" he continued conversationally. "Oh, I remember. This." His tongue wandered down the inside of Mulder's right arm, teasing the sensitive flesh from his elbow to his wrist. Licked the wrist lightly until Mulder gasped and squirmed. An arrow of desire shot straight to Skinner's cock, thickening it.

"You liked this, too, as I recall." He moved his mouth over one taut nipple and sucked hard, tongue lashing at the nub while pinching and stroking the other. A groan was his reward, and Mulder arched against him and grabbed his head to keep him there.

Skinner obliged him for a few moments more before pulling out of his grasp. Took Mulder's lush mouth in a hard kiss. Parted his lips with an invading tongue, and he felt Mulder surge against him, greedy mouth sucking at his. Felt his hot body pressed against his own--cock to cock--and it felt so good. Mulder tried to pull his lover's body down flat against him for more skin to skin contact. Skinner almost succumbed to the temptation but pushed Mulder down into the sheets, pinning him there lightly. They were both panting heavily, and Mulder's lips were swollen from kisses, his eyes glazed in passion and confusion. His hard cock rested against Skinner's leg.

"Why did you . . . " Mulder started to ask.

"You never answered my question. What do you want?"

Mulder stared at him as if he'd gone insane. "I think it's pretty obvious what I want, Walter." He punctuated this with a slight push of his hips, pressing his swollen cock against Skinner's thigh.

"I want you to tell me. Tell me where to touch you. You would never tell me anything." And it was true. Mulder had rarely asked for anything during lovemaking. Skinner had discovered his likes and dislikes mainly through trial and error. It wasn't that Mulder was passive, far from it, he just could not ask for what he wanted. Maybe the ability had been bred out of him in childhood. Whenever Skinner had mentioned it, Mulder had merely said he'd try.

Still pinning Mulder to the bed, Skinner tried a new tack. "Do you want me to touch you behind your knee?" he asked huskily. "How about if I lick the small of your back? You know that trail of hair that runs down your belly? Want me to run my fingers down it?" A pink tongue emerged from Mulder's mouth to moisten dry lips.

"Here. Let me do that for you," Skinner said, voice like silk. He ran his tongue generously around Mulder's lips until the younger man tried to capture it. Skinner drew back. "Ah ah," he said. "Not until you answer my question."

Skinner's own cock was aching for release, but he wasn't going to give up. "I'll bet you want me to suck you, don't you? Lick your cock, trail my tongue down the underside. Take the whole thing in my mouth and suck as hard as I can."

"Jesus!" Mulder gasped, and Skinner felt his cock jump against his leg.

"Is that what you want, Mulder?"

"Yes, damn you!" Mulder whimpered.

Victory! Skinner moved his hands from where they pinned Mulder down by his wrists and wrapped them around his waist, bent and licked delicately at the head. He tasted wonderful. Familiar.

"God!" Mulder shouted and tried to shove himself into Skinner's mouth, but was held down. True to his word, Skinner trailed his tongue slowly down the sensitive vein on the underside of Mulder's cock, flicking and nibbling at it. When he reached the base, he worked his way slowly back to the head.

"Walter, please." Mulder begged, his body trembling.

"What is it? What do you want?" Softly spoken, tongue darting into the slit, lapping at the moisture gathering there.

"Make me come," Mulder gasped. "I need to come."

The look of raw need on his lover's face sent a pleasant shiver cruising down his body. Mulder had never allowed him to see this level of need, had never begged him before. Had never asked for release before. Typical of Mulder to trust him this much now.

Obliging Mulder's request, Skinner slowly engulfed his penis to the hilt, sucking and working his throat on it. He smiled, as much as he could, at Mulder's undone yelp; he didn't think Mulder would last long.

And he was right. With a scream and a stiffening of his body, Mulder came and came hard. Bursts of tangy liquid bathed Skinner's mouth and he took it all, savoring the taste that he might not know again for a long, long time.

He released Mulder's hips and rose up to capture the panting mouth. Mulder's body wrapped around him and the long, graceful hands stroked his chest and abdomen. They moved down his arms, and Mulder pushed his body against him, trying to feel all of him.

"You feel so good; it's been so long," Mulder murmured lazily. He reached for Skinner's rock-hard cock and squeezed lightly. "I want you inside me," he added, more clearly.

Skinner gasped. He'd manage to tamp down on his own desire, but Mulder's touch reignited it. "You do that again, and you'll have to wait awhile. I'm not as young as I used to be."

"Hah," Mulder snorted softly. "You're in better shape than I am."

"I'm not even sure I have any lube," Skinner mused and reached for the bedside drawer. He rummaged around inside and surprisingly enough, pulled out an old bottle. "No condoms."

Mulder shrugged. "I'm clean. Are you?"

Skinner gave him a look that said, 'Of course' and knelt between his legs. "How do you want this?" He grinned wickedly and ran a hand up one of Mulder's long legs. "Fast and hard? Or slow and gentle?" One finger ducked behind Mulder's balls and skimmed along the hypersensitive trail to circle his anus.

"How about slow and hard. And deep." He tilted his hips to give Skinner greater access to his body.

Skinner flushed and his cock twitched at the suggestion. "Anything you want," he growled. He removed his finger and then returned it, greased, to Mulder's ass. He slid it in slowly, feeling muscles clench around it. Jesus, he was tight and hot. He moaned at the thought of his dick being surrounded by that tightness and that heat.

Mulder writhed under him, pushing down on his probing finger. "More," he grated.

Skinner smiled at him and inserted a second finger, stretching Mulder at a leisurely pace. He didn't want to take a chance of hurting him. Mulder was hard again, and Skinner leaned over and kissed the tip lightly as his fingers aimed for the spot that would make Mulder yell.

It did. And it made him squirm. Skinner laughed in approval; he'd always liked to see Mulder squirm. It shot his desire up a notch, and he pulled his fingers out of the warm body. He drew Mulder's legs up over his shoulders and pushed his cock slowly inside.

"Finally," Mulder breathed. "Yes," he whispered and thrust against the welcome invasion.

Skinner only moaned and kept up the pressure until he was fully embedded. Enveloped. All the way. In Mulder. After so long. "Oh, it's good." Pushed Mulder's legs back and slid in deeper. So perfect.

His lover's eyes were glazed with pleasure and his fists were clenched in the sheets. "Is this what you wanted, Fox? Is this what you need?" Skinner demanded.

"Yes, this. Please. Fuck me."

Slow, hard, deep thrusts. Mulder's body opened completely to him. Bare cock slid along velvety flesh. Legs fell down around his hips, Skinner leaned over his lover, still thrusting slowly. Resisting the urge to pound away roughly, giving Mulder what he wanted. Mulder's familiar mewls of pleasure and his body rolled and surged under Skinner. Hazel eyes stared straight into his, long arms around his neck, legs now locked around his waist. Mulder climbed his body. Thrust met with thrust. Hard, hot cock slid wetly against his belly. Mulder whispered obscenities as he pushed himself harder against Skinner's cock. Skinner could no longer take it; he sped up.

Mulder yelled and pressed himself hard against Skinner's body. Fiery liquid splashed between them and its heat and the clenching of Mulder's muscles set off Skinner's orgasm. He thrust hard into Mulder, yelling, twisting inside out with the power of it.

They both collapsed, falling to the bed. Skinner couldn't move for what seemed like an eternity. "Jesus Christ," he finally said and lifted himself off of Mulder's smaller body, worried that he might crush him.

"That was amazing," Skinner breathed, and pulled Mulder into a languorous kiss.

"Yeah," Mulder answered between kisses. They nuzzled and caressed one another lazily, neither man speaking, enjoying the moment.

Presently, Mulder's caresses and kisses became bolder. He turned Skinner onto his back, straddling him as Skinner had done him earlier. "My turn," he grinned and licked his lips lasciviously.

"Have mercy, will you?" Skinner complained half-heartedly. "I'm an old man. This could kill me."

"You'll die satisfied," Mulder returned. His eyes held a strange light, but it was gone so quickly that Skinner thought he must have imagined it. Besides, Mulder's talented mouth was all over his body, making him forget how to think.

Why fight it? Giving in, he allowed Mulder free rein.

"Do you ever hear from Scully?" Mulder asked around a yawn when they'd come down from their second round of lovemaking.

"Occasionally."

"I have a letter for her. Would you mail it for me after I leave?"

Skinner stroked his hair, and swallowed hard at this reminder that his lover would be gone in the morning. "Sure."

"Thanks." It was quiet for a few moments, and Skinner thought Mulder had fallen asleep. Then he heard his soft voice, "Walter?"

"Yeah?"

"I do love you."

"I know." He held him tighter and they both drifted off.

Skinner woke slowly to the crescendo of waves and the piping of gulls. The warmth that had pressed against him last night was gone. He didn't roll over. He didn't want to see the empty side of the bed--the empty house--just yet. That way, he could fool himself that Mulder was in the bathroom, fixing breakfast, or out for a run.

The night before, he had prepared himself for waking up alone, but that didn't make the reality hurt any less. He wondered how many years would go by before he saw Mulder again. Or if he ever would. Did Mulder think that Skinner would allow him to wander in and out of his life? Show up whenever he pleased for a few hours or days and then leave again? No, he couldn't live like that; he wouldn't.

"Liar," he said, the word jarringly loud in the empty room. He would do exactly that, and he knew it. He'd wait forever, and he'd take whatever time with Mulder he could get.

"Pathetic," he murmured and some vague notion of snuggling into Mulder's pillow seized him. He rolled over and nuzzled into the soft down, breathing in Mulder's spicy scent. He laid for long moments, eyes closed. Drifting, he allowed memories of last night's lovemaking to wend through his mind. Remembering the feel of Mulder's body writhing under him, those long, strong legs wrapped around his waist. Mulder's hoarse cries and the scream that had accompanied his orgasm still rang in Skinner's ears. He smiled at that. Mulder had always been noisy.

Unable to put it off any longer, he groaned and stretched. His open eyes landed on a small, folded piece of paper lying on the pillow. He picked it up, held it and his breath momentarily before opening it.

//Forgive me//, the note read in Mulder's tight scrawl. //There was no other way.//

No other way for what?

Outside the waves crashed. The ocean. Oh God, the ocean. Now, his memories of the night before hit him like nausea. Mulder's strange fascination with the ocean, constantly looking at it, gauging it. His statement that the ocean brought death as well as life.

He'd gotten it all wrong. He'd thought that Mulder was going on the run, and Mulder had done nothing to disabuse him of this notion.

//God, no! Mulder.//

He was out of the bed and running before he realized it. Tasted carpet as he slammed face down onto the living room floor, his feet tangled in Mulder's discarded blue jeans. An unexpected breeze passed by his face, and he looked up--the French doors were open. He kicked the jeans away in a panic and sprang up. Racing onto the beach, he yelled Mulder's name over and over.

Nothing. No Mulder. The beach was empty except for graceful gulls diving for their breakfast and some craps scuttling about.

And the single set of footprints that walked a path into the water.

None came out.

The sea was rising, erasing the footprints one by one.

Just as it had erased Mulder's life

//You're jumping to conclusions, Walter,// he told himself.

But he knew. He *knew.* Knew it by the ache in his heart, by the emptiness in that part of him that had kept Mulder with him over the last six years.

Shortly after his move to San Diego, Scully had stopped by on her way to visit her brother. Their conversation, as it always did, meandered its way to the subject of Mulder. Had it ever occurred to him, she asked, that Mulder was dead?

No, it never had. If Mulder had died, he told her, he would have known. He would have felt it.

He knew it now. He felt it. Mulder was dead. Now he understood what he'd seen on Mulder's face last night. Finality. It was why Mulder had been so calm, even in the face of Skinner's anger. Mulder had already made his decision. He'd come to his lover to make amends knowing that it was the last night of his life.

Funny how he couldn't be angry with Mulder for leaving him like this. Perhaps he'd known all along that this was how it would end. Well, not quite like this. Trust Mulder to be non-conformist even in death. No bullet in the head in a cheap motel room for him. His mouth twitched at the notion.

Cool morning air chilled his naked body, and the water lapped at his ankles. The waves seemed to gentle, as if to crash would be disrespectful. The gulls' sweet song had turned into a doleful lament.

The sea had received its child.

The End.

Originally written: April 1998  
Revised: June 23, 1999


End file.
